


Great Depression AU

by buttsbeyondbutts



Category: The Flash (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Dubious Consent, Gen, Great Depression, Hobos, M/M, Original Character(s), Past Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Poverty, Racism, Slow Burn, fractured time line
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsbeyondbutts/pseuds/buttsbeyondbutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This collection is born out of a tumblr prompt and my personal obsession with Bluepulse and American history. </p><p>Bart Allen and Jaime Reyes travel the country in the Great Depression, looking for work, fighting adversity and finding themselves.<br/>Most recent Chapter: 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue The First

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will not be updated in order. Each chapter will stand alone in the universe unless otherwise mentioned but I will try to put chapters in chronological order when they're posted. I'll put the most recent in the summary.
> 
> What You Need To Know: Jaime is about sixteen and Bart is thirteen. Jaime's family was "repatriated" to Mexico, leaving him on his own. Bart is a hobo. They will eventually be together romantically.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart leaves home.

The day they buried Bart's mother, it rained for the first time in months. The funeral itself was small. The Allen family; Bart and his grandparents and grandma's nephew; Wally West, who was 10 years older than Bart but raised alongside him anyway. A few mother's friends showed up but most were farmers wives who had to secure their own land from the oncoming floods. At the very edge of the cemetery, A tall man with the gray hat stood watching. Bart couldn't see his face but he knew who it was. Thaddeus Thawne the third, the banker, was also his mother's father but Bart never remembered that when he thought of him.

More people came to the wake, probably because there was food. Bart didn't eat. He fidgeted through a line of condolences that he barely heard. None of them would bring his mother back.

Once Meloni Allen was safe in the ground, The mourners disbursed and the West Allen family returned to their apartment on high Street. Central City, Nebraska was a city only in name. Bart had seen newsreels of Gotham or Metropolis or Berlin. Real cities, not one horse town's like Central City. Grandpa said it was the best city in the world.

Barry Allen sat down at the dining room table the moment he entered. Iris West Allen poured her husband a drink. Wally leaned in the doorway unsure of what to do. Bart fidgeted.

 ****Grandpa finished his drink before he noticed Bart. He smiled. "Why don't you go for run, kid? Get some energy out."

"Ok," Bart said immediately heading for the door. Grandma caught him by his collar.

"It's pouring rain," she said, "He'll catch his death of cold."

"He'll be fine, Iris," grandpa said.

"It's not safe." Grandma insisted.

"I'll go with him," Wally volunteered.

Bart blinked. Wally did not like him. Wally spent most of his life either avoiding Bart or whining about "babysitting duty". Bart didn’t exactly want company but if it got him out of the ever constricting apartment that even smelled like his mother, he would welcome it. Barry looked at Iris who nodded.

“One hour!” she called as the boys rushed to their shared room to change. “I want to you back here in one hour.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Wally said as Bart rushed out the door. The run started the moment he hit the hallway. Bart hurled himself down four flights of steps, his feet barely making touchdown before the were up again. At the door to the street, he glanced over his shoulder. Wally was a few steps behind. He nodded, like Bart would ever need his permission, and they were off again.

Meloni used to say that Bart was born running. “You kicked like a mule,” she laughed, “Like you were all ready to tear out of there. Two weeks premature- you just couldn’t stay inside, could you?”

The rain fell heavy onto Bart’s face, nearly blinding him but he didn’t care. He’d run this path a million times before, late for school or late coming home, trying to catch the iceman in the summers or just because he felt the electricity underneath his skin and knew he’d burst from sitting still.

“Don was just the same,” Iris once said, “He was already walking at- what, Barry, seven  months? You had him beat by almost two and a minute later you were tearing around the house like a bat out of hell.”

“All the Allen men are like that,” Grandpa said, with a hint of pride in his voice.

In a way, the rain was a stroke of luck. Fewer people walked the streets in the rain and those who did hurried beneath umbrellas and old newspaper. Bart dodged them easily. He ignored the shouts and angry huffs as he just barely avoided crashing into someone. Wally could apologize for him if he wanted to. His cousin kept his distance, but Bart doubted it was out of respect for the grieving process. Wally was fast. He made All American in Cross Country and Track and Field but he wasn’t Allen fast. He was huffing and puffing by the time Bart managed to slow enough for him to catch him.

“We oughta…” he took a big breath and squinched his eyes closed. “We oughta head back, Bart. Aunt Iris will-”

“I know,” Bart said. He wiped the rain out of his eyes and turned around. This time he went slower, slow enough for Wally to keep pace with him side by side. He hated the way back, going over all the same stupid ground he already passed. He wasn’t tired. Electricity still coursed beneath his skin and it would never be satisfied, not even if Bart ran all the way across the country. His grandparents were waiting for him though, and they were all the family he had left in the world.

Barry and Iris were all tense smiles when Bart and Wally returned. He could tell they’d been arguing by the way his grandma shoed him into bed early. Iris had read somewhere that it was bad for children to see their parents argue but she was also never one to give up when she knew she was right. She kissed Bart on the forehead and said she loved the both of them before closing the door behind her and saying “This isn’t finished, Barry Allen. You can’t let Thaddeus Thawne provoke you.”

Bart got up out of bed. “What are you doing?” Wally hissed.

“I wanna see,” Bart said, climbing on the the fire escape. There were three windows in the Allen Apartment, all connected to a rickety fire escape. One was in the boys' room, the other in the kitchen and the third looked into the master bedroom where his grandparents slept. Bart snuck in through the fire escape all the time, the noise of him easily passed off as a pigeon or the wind.

He crept across the rusting platform and crouched by the kitchen window. He could see Barry sitting at the table, looking as if he never wanted to get up again. Iris paced back and forth, worriedly. Wally crouched down next to him and didn’t say a word.

"He'll come after the boy," Barry said in a weary voice. "He hates me sure, but Bart is a symbol of everything he's lost."

Iris snorted. "Thawne never gave a damn about Meloni."

"No," Barry said, "but he does care about pride and property. The way he sees it, Meloni hurt one and took the other. Now she's gone, that anger will go to Bart."

"He's 11," iris said, "surely even Thawne wouldn't-"

"Meloni was what- sixteen when he kicked her out?" Barry snapped, "Thawne won't hold back because Bart's a kid and he won't hesitate for his grandson. You should know that after what he did to Don."

"Barry!" Iris hissed, with a glance to her grandson's room. His grandfather calmed and looked apologetic, but Bart  shook.  Wally had his hand on Bart's shoulder, squeezing. He said something about leaving, how they shouldn't be listening. Bart shook his hand off, and slid out into the night. Wally ran after him.

"Bart!"

"What happened to my dad?" He shouted. Wally didn't answer. He leaned over, his hands on his knees, and panted.

“God, you're fast" he wheezed. Bart looked around. They were halfway into downtown now, only a block or two from the house of Thaddeus Thawne.

"What did he do to my dad, Wally?" He meant to shout again. He wanted the rage in his heart to come out through his voice. All that came out though was a half wrecked sob.

Wally made an uncomfortable noise and looked over his shoulder. There was no one there, "Barry should tell you," he said, "or Iris, not-"

"I'm asking you!" Bart snarled.

Wally grimaced and started scratching the back of his neck. "Okay, yeah, I guess you oughta know. Um, you know Thawne is your- your mom's dad, right?"

Bart nodded. Thawne was never much of a Dad to his mother but he'd seen the old family picture she kept in her personal drawer; banker and his sons and Bart's mother sitting stiffly a high collared dress. She looked like a different person in that photo, her mouth a thin line and her brown hair tied tight bun. She looked tired when Bart knew her but happy. She had been happy, even in the dingey studio they all used to share before his dad passed and they had to move in with his parents because the Thawnes wouldn’t speak to their daughter. Even then, she was happy… right up until the moment she got sick.

“Well, you know Thawne don’t exactly like Barry or your Dad, right? Well, he got real mad after you were born and- I mean, we don’t know for sure it was him! It coulda been something different or maybe just-”

“Wally!” Bart shouted.

His cousin sighed and swallowed hard. “C’mon, Bart, this ain’t a good thing to say. Iris should tell you, she’d know how to do it right-” he caught himself with another sigh and said, in a clear but pained voice. “Barry thinks Thawne killed your Dad.”

Bart shook his head, fat drops of rain slipping from his brown hair. “No,” he said. “My dad died in a train wreck. My mom told me.”

Wally nodded sadly. “Yeah, but Don didn’t just hang around on train tracks, you know? I don’t think Barry ever told your mom. He doesn’t have any proof except some witnesses saying Don was talking to one of Thawne’s cronies the night before he died. We don’t have anyway to prove it.”

“So my grandpa thinks my other grandpa killed my dad,”  Bart said harshly. “And nobody thought to let me know?”

“Ain’t like we were lyin’, Bart,” Wally said, awkwardly.

“What’s it like then?”

“Look, they just wanted to protect you!” Wally snapped. “It isn’t something you tell a kid! Especially, if you couldn’t prove it.”

“I’m half Thawne though, aren’t I?” Bart said, the realization suddenly going cold inside of him. “So I got murder in me too, right? Hell, I look more Thawne than Allen.”

“Bart,” Wally said, in a soft voice, “Come on back home. Before Iris notices we’re gone. Please?”

Bart closed his eyes. “Fine,” he whispered, rage and sorrow and electricity buzzing beneath his skin.

He didn’t sleep that night, or the night after. His hands shook while he did his chores and, though he ate just as much as he could, the food never tasted right. Grandma said he was quieter than she’d ever seen before and Grandpa told her to let him alone. Everyday he ran further and further, trying to wear himself out enough to sleep at last. Everyday his steps brought him closer and closer to the house of Thaddeus Thawne. Until one day, exhausted and unable to rest, Bart knocked on the door.

A tall black man in a well cut suit answered. He looked down at Bart without expression and said. “Yes?”

“I wanna see Thaddeus Thawne,” he said. “Tell ‘im it’s Bart Allen.”

The butler nodded and closed the door. Bart waited, his hands squeezed into tight little fists. The door opened again and the handsome butler told him to come in.

“Wipe your feet please, Mr. Allen.” he said, leading Bart into the foray. Bart obeyed, staring up at the grand entry way. It felt bigger than his whole apartment. Statues of greek gods lined the hallway and Bart couldn’t help but remember his grandmother’s diamond wedding ring becoming suddenly lost when Meloni’s hospital bills came due.

 ****“That’s enough, Williams,” Thawne spoke from the staircase at the end of the hall. “He won’t be going further.” He stepped down into the hallway, leaning on a sleek black cane. “What is it you want here, Boy?”

 ****Bart blinked, suddenly unsure what he wanted. “I saw you at my mother’s funeral,” he said finally.

 ****“What of it?” Thawne asked, staring him down.

“Why come to her funeral if you never met her son?” Bart said.

“Because in spite of her mistakes, she was my daughter,” Thawne said. He walked towards Bart, faster than he would have imagined, and peered down at him. “You look like her, you know?  That hair… the structure of your face… she was a very handsome woman, your mother, but I can still see that taint in your blood. It’s in the eyes, those Allan eyes. There’s the mistake.”

“Did you kill my father?”

Thawne chuckled and took a step back. “Ah, Barry Allen, always looking for someone else to blame. Did he tell you that?”

“No.” Bart said, “Did you?”

Thawne shook his head. “The boy’s death was a happy accident. I had no part in it, other than wishing it had come soon enough to save your mother’s reputation. I told her she could return home after he was gone. I’m sure I could have found someone willing to overlook her disgrace, provided she renounced all ties to it. She could have had comfort, stability, the best medicine in the world-”

“Shut up!” Bart snarled. He threw himself at the old man, tiny fists raised but strong hands caught him and pulled him back. Bart fought but Williams the Butler held on while Thawnes chuckled humorlessly.

“Hate me if you like, Bart Allen,” he said, turning away. “God knows the feeling is mutual, but as you hate me, know this… your mother would still be alive if not for you.”

“I’ll kill you,” Bart muttered, all the pain and rage boiling up to the surface and spewing from his mouth. “I swear I’ll kill you!”

Thawne laughed again as Williams pulled Bart back down. “You’re certainly welcome to try.” he said and disappeared into the massive expanse of the house.

The handsome butler deposited Bart on the front stoop. “Go home, Mister Allen,” he advised in a soft, pitying voice, and closed the door.

Bart sat on the stepped for a long time, breathing in deep. The entire world seemed to vibrate and constrict around him. Thawne killed his father. Bart couldn’t doubt it now. He as good as killed his mother. There was murder in his blood.

He ran through the streets of Central City. They were crowded now, too crowded to notice a boy with tears in his eyes and rage burning him down to his soles on the hot pavement. He stopped when he reached the train tracks on the very edge of town. Beyond Central City lay a waste of dead farmland and long, empty roads. In that moment, Bart could have run down every last one and still have hate to spare. He could run until his feet bleed and it still wouldn’t fix the mistake of his face, his hair. He could run until no one recognized him. In another city, no one would have to know he killed his mother and his father just by the accident of his birth.

He turned and walked back to the apartment, turning the idea over in his head. The four rooms were silent when he entered. Wally and Barry were out looking for work as they always did. He found a note on the table, in his grandmother’s handwriting, informing him that she had stepped out to the post office and would be back soon.

Bart went to his room and changed his clothes. He put the dirty ones in the hamper and found the newest ones he could in his closet. He wrapped them in the blanket from his bed and filled his pockets with the entirety of his savings, five dollars and thirty seven cents. He found the old wedding picture of his mother and father and put it in his pocket as well, along with Wally’s switch blade.  He stopped only briefly in the kitchen to turn the note over and scribble a quick Sorry on the back. Then he was back out on the streets, running for the tracks.  


	2. Jaime's prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Justice is coming back!!!! 
> 
> i diieeedd and woke up in heaven!!
> 
> (please excuse spelling errors)

Jaime woke to little hands squeezing his cheeks. He didn’t even notice when Milagro crawled in next to him but his sister got grabby in her deep sleep. He started to pull back, trying to reclaim some of the cool of the night when hushed voices froze him.

“Maybe we should just go,” his mother said, from beyond the hanging sheet that separated their parlor from the beds.

“Sure,” his father scoffed, “You can’t kick us out, we’re leaving.  We may as well save face, if nothing else.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Jaime’s mother said. They were speaking English, unusual in the Reyes apartment. Jaime only spoke the language when he went to school or had to deal with white people. Milagro was still mispronouncing Spanish and hadn’t started school yet, but his parents clearly didn’t want to be overheard. Jaime listened intently.

“I mean we could go north,” his mother continued. “They might not care so much if we’re further from the border.”

“I was born here.” His father wasn’t angry. His words came in a long exhale, like a cloud of dust. “My father and my grandfather were born here. My son is growing up here. I won’t be driven out by some roving band of thugs.”

Jaime felt a warm surge of pride at his father’s words. Of course not. The Reyes family had endured through generations, fighting and scratching for the little bits of life they could get. He remembered his Abuelo telling him the stories of struggle and triumph. The Reyes Family may not have much but no one would take it from them.

“We may not get the choice,” and anxiety crept in through the cracks of pride when Señora Reyes spoke. “You heard about the raids in Los Angeles.”

“That’s Los Angeles,” he answered. “California always goes too far. We’re fine here. We do good work.”

“No les importa,” she laughed and then Jaime could hear her cry. His mother never made noise when she cried but Jaime knew the silence and hated it. He hated laying and listening to his mother cry, unable to move lest he wake his frightened little sister.

“Shush,” his father made comforting noises. “Vamos a dormir, mi amor. It’ll be better in the morning.”

Jaime closed his eyes as chairs scrapped back on the floor and his parents got up. They spoke in muffled voices as they lifted the curtain, pausing only to look at their children before climbing into their bed.

***

Jaime sat with his parents conversation lurking in the back of his mind all through the next day. He went to school, imagining how far north they’d have to go to avoid the raids. Dallas? Maybe they would have to leave Texas altogether.

“Papa, aluguno vividio afuera Texas?” He asked as he walked his father back to the boarding house.

“No, Jaime, tú sabes eso.” He stopped and looked at his son. “Nos escuchaste.” He said in a resigned voice.

Jaime nodded. “No me importa dónde vivimos,” he offered.

“No pero me importa,” his father said. “I won’t be told to leave.”

He looked ahead, frowning at the skyline of El Paso. Then he smiled at Jaime. “No té preocupes, hijo. Esta bien.”

Jaime nodded but he kept worrying. He knew about the roves of white men who could descend on a barrio whenever they pleased and tell people what to do. They’d done it in California and Corpus Christi. They’d hung people who tried to fight back.

Still, his father’s words had been final. Jaime kept quiet and any conversation between his parents was kept light or far out of earshot.

***

The peace went on for a few more weeks after that midnight conversation. Jaime kept the raids out of his mouth and, as much as he could, out of his mind.

Then, one evening as he walked home with his father, Jaime saw smoke rising from the barrio. With an oath, his father took off running, shouting wildly. Jaime could hear screams and shouts, in Spanish and English. At the edge of their street, his father came to a sudden stop.

“Jaime!” He said urgently. “Vas a la estacion. Vas norte.”

“Papa-”

“Vas norte!” his father commanded. “Te encontraremos. Vas! Vas!”

Jaime ran. With every step, he heard a hundred footsteps behind him. He never dared look back, not until he had reached the station. It was twilight by then but he thought he could see smoke rise from his neighborhood. He thought he could hear the silence his mother’s tears.

But his father told him to go north. Jaime climbed into a small car at the end of the chain and pulled his jacket close around him. The car was dark and empty, save for some old piles of straw. Jaime stayed very still, barely chancing a breath until the train began to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review


	3. Dust Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How They Met

Somebody closed their hand around his and told him to run. He couldn’t see a damn thing in the pitch black of the storm but he obeyed, stumbling through the wind and dust. Jaime could barely breathe much less keep up with whoever was dragging him along. His lungs hurt. Maybe one of those assholes had broken a rib. He could barely hear his rescuer over the wind but he caught the word “hurry” and struggled to obey.

He ran smack into the other person when they suddenly stopped. A loud crack burst in front of them and Jaime was being pulled again and thrown to the ground. He coughed violently and his fingers clutched around… straw? He opened his eyes, blinking back tears as the sand fell off his lashes. He could still hear the wind howling and somebody shouting for help. He turned and saw another boy, shorter than he was and white, trying to pull the door shut. Jaime leapt up and joined him. The door closed with another crack and the white boy slammed a lock into place.

“Holy shit,” he said in huge exhale and then started to laugh.

“We oughta close it off,” Jaime said, panting. “Barricade it or something.”

“Yeah,” he was leaning against the door, sinking down to his knees. He was covered in dust. It showered down from his red hair as he laughed. “Holy shit,” he said again.

Jaime turned and looked for something to keep the door shut. The kid’s laughter echoed creepily in the little shed, too sharp against the howl of the storm. Jaime found a long two by four and wedged it up against the door. The boy leaned forward, rolling out of the way to let him put it in place. His laughter had turned to a hacking cough. He looked skinny as hell.

Jaime went to the back of the shed and sat down. He brushed fingers over his face, trying to check for cuts without a mirror. All he found was dust and sand. He could see it filter in under the door, in the cracks of the wall. He tried to wipe it away but only succeeded in moving it around.

“Hey,” the other boy said, his voice scratchy, “My name’s Bart. Bart Allen.”

“Jaime Reyes,” he coughed again.

“Glad to meet you, Jaime Reyes,” he gave a half hearted little wave. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Who says I pissed anybody off?”

“I tripped over you, lying face down in a corn field,” Bart Allen said, “That’s a funny place for a nap. Figured you musta pissed somebody off.”

“Just a couple of assholes,” Jaime spat, trying to get the taste of dust out of his mouth. “Not the first time.”

“Fair enough,” he pushed his fingers through his hair, shaking more sand loose. “You from around here?”

“El Paso,” Jaime glared. “Texas,” he spat through gritted teeth.

Bart didn’t appear to notice his anger, or else he didn’t care. “I’m from Central City, Nebraska, myself,” he said with a grin. “Ain’t been to Texas yet. You with anybody?”

“No,” Jaime admitted, instantly regretting it.

“Me neither,” Bart said. No one spoke for a moment. Jaime shifted back against the wall, watching the other boy watch him. He was younger than Jaime. Maybe twelve or thirteen with green eyes and sunburned skin. Jaime didn’t remember him from any work sites. Then again he tried not to look at the other guys he was working with too much. Keeping his head down meant keeping out of trouble.

“Hell of a storm,” Bart said, squirming in the silence.

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath. “Thanks for gettin’ me in here.”

“You’re welcome,” Bart smiled broadly. “ Hey, we oughta stick together once the storm blows over.”

Jaime shook his head. “I don’t think so, man,”

“No?” Bart made a skeptical face. “The road’s a lot nicer with somebody else around. Gives you somebody to watch your back, somebody to talk to, lets the bosses know you ain’t off your rocker.”

“So why don’t you already have somebody?” Jaime asked.

“I did,” Bart admitted in a small voice, “He died.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said immediately.

Bart shrugged.  “Happens that way sometimes. Bet you’ve lost people too.”

Jaime nodded but didn’t say anything. Thinking about his family was painful enough. Talking about them felt impossible. Bart didn’t say anything but stared up at the ceiling, listening to the dust rain down on the metal roof. Then he turned his back on Jaime, curling with his arms around his chest to face the door. Jaime settled again on the wall as the wind howled

“I think I’ll head out to California tomorrow,” Bart said, after Jaime was certain he was asleep. “People are saying its better out there.”

“I’ve heard that,” Jaime agreed.

“If you wanna come, you’re welcome,” Bart said, glancing over his shoulder and quickly turning away again. “Be glad to have you.”

What little light there had been in the shed began to dim. Outside, the dust was blotting out the sun. Jaime wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling his knees close to his chest. “Yeah,” he said, “Okay.”

The storm raged on until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffish...
> 
> oh the Dust Bowl. Will I ever not be interested in you and how utterly insane you were? No.
> 
> please review.


	4. Until He Grows Fat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dangers of The Road

The house was red, it’s paint chipped and faded from the weather. A white picket fence surround it and trees surrounded that.  Some sweet aroma, cinnamon and apples, wafted from the windows. Jaime’s mouth watered but he grabbed Bart’s shoulder to hold him back.

“What?” The younger boy whined, stretching out the A as long as he could.

“We don’t know what’s in there,” Jaime said. His mouth was dry and scratchy from disuse. Neither of them had eaten for nearly two days. The groans of Bart’s stomach still echoed in his ears.

“Food,” Bart said, “Maybe work.”

“There wasn’t any work in the last place, or the place before that.” Jaime reminded him. “We don’t know if there’s anything here either, or anything to spare for a couple of drifters.”

“Well it won’t hurt to try!”

“It might!” Jaime snapped, “I still got bruises from that cop that wanted to run us outta town! I don’t need anybody else trying to string me up!”

Bart flinched at the memory. Jaime didn’t know what he had to be so jumpy about. It wasn’t his ass on the line every time they tried to get a job in these backwoods, hick towns. If he felt like it, Bart could slip back into any mob he wanted to and blend right in.

Maybe it wasn’t fair. Bart had stuck with him longer than anybody else had, always shared what he got and never tried to cheat him out of anything. He couldn’t help it if his skin or his accent didn’t make him a target like Jaime’s did. He stuck with him through all the abuse and never once joined in. Jaime knew that and he was grateful, he really was but Bart just forgot about it. Acted like it was nothing the minute they were out of harm’s way. Jaime didn’t have the luxury of forgetting and he didn’t appreciate it in Bart.

“Jaime,” Bart said in a softer voice. “We’re starving. We gotta get something to eat or we’re gonna die.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jaime said, just as a tell tale grumble rose out of his empty stomach.

Bart shook his head. “We gotta get something to eat,” he repeated. “Come on, just read the signs.”

“What signs?” He closed his eyes. Bart picked up his hand and lead him over to the white picket fence. Near the bottom, in faded pencil was a crude drawing of a cat and what might have been a table.

“See?” Bart said, pointing. “The cat means there’s a little old lady living here and the table means she’ll give us a sit down meal. It’s hobo signs. It’s okay.”

Jaime frowned. “My little sister can draw better than that.”

“Ain’t supposed to hang in an art museum; it’s supposed to tell us what’s safe.” He squeezed Jaime’s hands in his, staring up with wide green eyes. “It is safe. Please, Jaime. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

Jaime shook his head. “Fine,” he said, “but I want you to know I think it’s a bad idea.”

“It’ll be great,” Bart promised, breaking into a weak smile. He turned, wobbling a little on his feet as he stepped toward the house. Jaime squeezed his shoulder to steady him, glancing back to see if anymore hillbillies lurked in the woods.

Bart wasted no time in knocking hard on the door. “Just a moment,” a high, croaking voice came from behind the splintered wood. Bart grinned back at him as if his point was already proven. A little old lady opened the door. Her hair was whiter than her skin but not by much. Liver spots and moles dotted her face and a faded pink shawl rested over her boney shoulders. Her eyes were milky blue, with a hazy quality that prevented them from focusing. “Yes?” She said, “Who’s there?”

Bart stepped forward. “My name’s Bart Allen, ma’am, and this here is my friend, Jaime Reyes. We were wondering if you might have any work that needs doing, or any food you can spare.”

Jaime fought not to roll his eyes. Bart always thought if he talked like Tom Sawyer, he could charm anything out of anyone. The worst part was it usually worked.

“Why my dear, of course you can have something to eat!” The old lady gushed in a thick Appalachian accent. “I just pulled a pie out of the oven! Come inside, quick before it gets cold!”

Flashing another bright smile back at Jaime, Bart followed her inside. Jaime shoved his hands in his pockets and went along as well.

“I can’t tell you how long its been since I had any company!” The old lady said as they crossed through a long narrow hallway. The house smelled like wet moth balls except for the delicious scents coming from the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of the parlor as they passed. It was quintessential old lady decoration; lots of dollies and pictures of Jesus and an angry looking tabby cat lying on a beat up arm chair.

“We’re most obliged ma’am,” Bart said earnestly.

“Come on now, sit down at the table.” She gestured to a small wooden thing pushed into the corner with two chairs on either side. “Now I remember, your name is Bart, yes?”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“And what is yours, young man?” She turned to give Jaime a wide, gap toothed smile.

“Jaime,” he told her with a swallow.

“Alright, Jaime,” she said, without so much as a blink, “My name is Mrs. Langstrom. You boys must be starving. Now the pie isn’t quite cool enough to eat but I’ve got some ham, some beans, some bread and a little bit of milk to tide you over!”

As she spoke, Mrs. Langstrom went to the pantry, pulling out each of the items and putting them in front of the boys. Jaime’s mouth watered but Bart didn’t even wait. Every time the old lady’s back was turned, he had his fingers in something, stuffing the food back into his mouth like a squirrel.

“Alright, dears,” she said, laying plates and silverware in front of them, “Let us pray.”

The folded their hands obediently, Bart swallowing the a final hunk of ham, as Mrs. Langstrom began. “Holy Father, we thank thee for the many blessing thou hast showered upon us. We thank thee for the food and the company provided, and pray for the wisdom to accept the opportunities you grant.”

“Amen,” Jaime and Bart echoed. Short prayers were always the most beautiful.

“Dig in,” Mrs. Langstrom instructed. Bart obeyed quickly, cutting through his food with gusto. He filled his plate within seconds and cleared it even faster, pausing only briefly to compliment the food. Jaime worked slower, keeping a careful eye on Mrs. Langstrom as the old woman watched Bart eat.

“My goodness,” she said, “You boys certainly are hunger.”

“It’s been a while since we had something to eat,” Jaime admitted, before Bart could answer with his mouth full.

She nodded sympathetically. “And even longer since you slept in a proper bed, I’ll warrant.”

Jaime nodded. The food was filling, if a little bit bland, but the taste of charity ruined any enjoyment. He put his fork down, suddenly more tired than he’d ever felt in his life.

Mrs. Langstrom placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Well, you boys will be staying with me tonight at any rate!”

“No, Ma’am,” Jaime shook his head while Bart made a scandalized noise through a mouthful of beans. “We don’t wanna impose on you.”

“Nonsense!” She shook her head. “My boys are grown and there’s two twin beds in the back room just going to waste!”

“That’s awful kind of you, ma’am, but-”

“Jaime,” she said in a serious voice, “you and your friend are staying here tonight. I’d hate to think of my boys wandering over the countryside without anybody to look after them. Why, your parents must be worried sick!”

Bart swallowed, glancing at Jaime. He stared quickly down at his food, pushing it across the floral plates with his fork. He hadn’t seen his parents in almost a year. They were off somewhere in Mexico, or maybe they managed to make it back. He didn’t like to think about his little sister ducking across the border or men aiming guns at his mother again. He didn’t like the idea that maybe they were looking for him in El Paso, or maybe they thought he was dead or deported somewhere and he’d never see them again.

“We’re getting’ back to them,” Bart said and Jaime knew it was more for his benefit than to reassure Mrs. Langstrom. Bart never told him why he left Central City, or why he seemed perfectly content to wander the country depending on strangers for food and shelter.  

“I should hope so,” Mrs. Langstrom said, oblivious. “You’re far too young to be out on your own!”

“I’m fifteen!” Bart squawked. He always added two years when he lied about his age.

“Still too young,” Mrs. Langstrom said, with a twinkle in her filmy blue eyes. “No arguments now, boys. You two are staying at that’s final.”

Bart looked at Jaime with pleading green eyes. The older boy shrugged. “Okay,” he relented, “But let us do some chores before we leave. We don’t want to impose.”

“Well, thank you kindly, Jaime,” she said with a broad, gap toothed smile. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be and since my dear Kirk passed away, I could certainly use the help.”

“We’d be glad to oblige,” Bart said, shoving another slice of bread into his face. They ate for a while longer, sugar coating their adventures for Mrs. Langstrom while she piled more onto their plates. The pie was by far the best thing Jaime had tasted since El Paso. Bart jabbered on, half the time with his mouthful, and their hostess ate it up with a spoon. Gradually, Jaime too began to relax. The food made his sleepy and the promise of a real bed lingered in the cooling evening air.

Finally, as Bart miraculously ran out of things to say, Mrs. Langstrom stood up. “Well, dears, it’s time for you to get to bed.”

“We can wash up, Mrs. Langstrom,” Bart offered quickly but she waved him away.

“Nonsense, Bart! There’ll be plenty to do in the morning, you can count on that. Poor Jaime here is about to fall asleep on my kitchen table!”

“I’m fine,” Jaime said, though his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He could never recall being quite this tired.

“Come on, boys,” she lit a candle to lead them down the long hallway to a small room with two twin beds. “It isn’t much but they’re clean and comfortable. I’ll have breakfast ready for you in the morning, six o’clock sharp.”

Jaime swallowed. “Thank you, Mrs. Langstrom. Really, I don’t know how to-”

“Hush,” she said, with a chuckle. “You boys just get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She gave the candle to Bart and closed the door behind her. The two boys looked at each other in disbelief before grinning ear to ear. Bart set the candle down and leapt into the bed on the far end of the room.

“I love beds!” he groaned into the patchwork quilts. “I love beds so much, Jaime! And I love food.”

“Yeah,” Jaime said down on his own bed, enjoying the crunch of a straw mattress. “This real nice, Bart.”

“You didn’t wanna go in,” Bart said, curling up onto his side, laughing at Jaime.

“Yeah, yeah,” the older boy lay back on the mattress, kicking off his shoes. He stretched his legs out as far as they could go, not even noticing how his joints popped. “You were right, Bart.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Bart purred. “Say it again, Jaime.”

“Shut up.”

“Say it in Spanish.”

“Callate, culo.”

“No, that ain’t it,” Bart laughed, “You say that way too often.”

“You were right,” Jaime repeated, rolling his eyes, “Now, go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Bart yawned. He blew out the candle and they fell silent. Jaime rolled over, squirming around to get comfortable. For the first time in weeks, his stomach didn’t growl and there was something soft beneath him. His arms felt a little empty with Bart all the way on the other side of the room On the road, they slept side by side and usually woke up tangled in each other’s arms. Bart was a cuddler and shit at keeping watch but it was nice to be close to somebody, nice to feel safe. It felt strange to see him so far away, only an outline in the dark.

***

“You know my late husband, Kirk? He was a sailor before we met, went all the way to Hong Kong once and got stranded.”

Bart’s head was spinning and everything was dark. He tried to sit up but something thumped against his chest and he couldn’t get his bearings.

“There was a famine in China at the time and meat was scarce. So scarce, he told me, that they sold their children for it. Why, a boy or girl under fourteen couldn’t walk down the street without gettin’ snatched up. Kirk said you could go into a store and as for a cut and they’d bring out a body and just give you what you want. Can you imagine? A little dead child cut up for the pot roast? Kirk said the backside of a little boy tasted like a fine veal cutlet.”

A branch brushed against his cheek. He was outside somewhere and somebody was carrying him. He could hear Mrs. Langstrom’s voice, but muffled, like he had an ear full of cotton. The things she said made him regret eating as much as he did. His stomach lurched with every step. He squirmed but his hands and feet were tied. Why didn’t he notice that before? His efforts earned him a hard slap on his ass and a warning to keep his mouth shut. Where was Jaime?

“He showed me how to prepare it when we got married. He was a wonderful man, my Kirk. The trick is you have to tenderize the meat. It’s a process, you see, an art form. You can’t just pour it out of a can. You have to use the spice, have to work the flesh while it’s still inside.”

“Jaime…” Bart managed to croak. His mouth tasted like cloth and he couldn’t draw a proper breath.

“Your friend is asleep,” Mrs. Langstrom said, “He’ll be asleep for a while now. He’s too big, too old. The meats rotted on the bone. But you, Bart Allen? Why you aint a day over twelve, are you?”

“Thirteen,” he slurred.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said and he was moving suddenly, landing on his back with a thump on hard cold earth. Bart choked, throwing up a little in his mouth. Something looped between his arms and tightened around them. There was a bag over his head and he only realized it as it was being pulled away. Not that it made much of difference, the world was still pitch black but he could feel the old woman’s foul breath on his face. “Because your little friend will leave in the morning and I’ll eat you for the next week.”

Bart couldn’t speak. Somewhere in front of him a door closed and a key turned in the lock. Then all he could do was scream.

***

He woke to the smell of eggs frying. Bart was gone, his blankets crumpled on the floor. Jaime had to smile at that. No amount of propriety every made Bart Allen late for a meal. He made sure to make the bed as well as his own before heading out to the kitchen.

Bart wasn’t in the kitchen. Mrs. Langstrom bustled around the stove but there was only one plate on the table.

“Where’s Bart?”

“Oh, he left, dear.” She said and continued humming to herself.

“Where did he go?”

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know, dear,” She blinked at him. “He went very quick, early in the morning.”

Jaime shook his head, “No, Bart wouldn’t do that.” He’d never felt more certain of anything in his life. Bart had been with him for months now. He wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.

Mrs. Langstrom shrugged but her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what to tell you, dear. Perhaps he’ll come back. Now, eat your eggs.”

Jaime sat down, eating slowly. Mrs. Langstrom bustled around the kitchen before sending him out to fetch water from the well. She had him clearing the yard, cleaning the gutters and hanging laundry all through the morning. And still there was no sign of Bart. His few possessions had been cleared from the room but he couldn’t be gone. Jaime stared up at the darkening sky, chopping wood for Mrs. Langstrom. Small drops of rain fell on his bare shoulder.

Where the hell was Bart?

He bit his lip, glancing back to the little red house. He’d promised to get the wood in before dark but Bart had been gone for hours. The image of his friend lying hurt and alone couldn’t be erased from his brain. Jaime knew Bart hadn’t left him, as sure as he knew his name or his birthday. If he hadn’t come back by now, something was delaying him.

Shouldering the hatchet, Mrs. Langstrom had given him, Jaime set out into the woods. He wouldn’t go far, because getting lost in bumble fuck West Virginia wasn’t doing anybody any favors. He just needed to see what was out there. He needed to find Bart.

The trees seemed thicker on the other side of the house, scratching his arms as he ducked beneath them. In the distance, he could see a small cellar door, barely visible behind a hill. A small grate opened out into the afternoon air as Jaime approached. The doors had been painted gray, not just faded white but actual grey like cement. A padlock held it shut. A small, hunched over outline lay in the darkness. It breathed.

“Bart?” He never wanted to be wrong so badly. A dog or a sack of potatoes or the work playing tricks on his eyes would have been preferable to seeing that familiar face spring up from the floor, staring at him with a mix of terror and relief.

“Jaime!” He scrambled forward and suddenly jerked back with a pained moan.

“What the hell,” Jaime knelt by the door, poking his fingers through the holes in the grate. “Are you okay?”

Bart shook his head, easing his way forward with greater caution. A dark purple bruise colored his milk white skin. “It’s really good to see you, amigo.”

“What happened?” Jaime demanded, “Who-”

“You were right about that house.”

“What?” he stared at his friend, “You mean- Mrs. Langstrom?!”

Bart nodded. “She’s off her nut, man! She wants to eat me!”

Jaime stared, his jaw dropped open. “That’s crazy, Bart-”

“Don’t leave me here!” Bart cried, surging forward again, forgetting about the ropes on his wrist and ankles. “Please, Jaime, you gotta believe me! You gotta get me outta here!”

“It’s okay! It’s okay! I believe you!” Jaime said, reaching for the hatchet. “You’re gonna be fine, Bart. I’m not going anywhere!”

Glancing over his shoulder at the house, just visible between the trees, he pounded the hatchet at the lock. A metallic ding clanged through the woods, making Jaime jump. He glanced back at the house, certain the old woman would be coming through the trees any second. There was no sign of her so he went back to trying to break through the padlock. Bart was babbling inside, begging him to hurry.

“She put something in the food… made me sleepy. Next thing, I know she’s carrying me through the woods talking about China and how you gotta tenderize the meat. Then she hit me and I couldn’t move or stop it and you gotta get me out of here, man!”

“I’m trying,” Jaime said, risking another look back at the house. “Don’t panic, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

“Fine! Jaime, some grandma wants to eat me! Literally!”

In a couple of days, that would be funny, once the bruises on Bart’s face were healed. For now, Jaime swallowed down the sickness risking in his throat and swung the blade again. “I knew you wouldn’t leave,” Bart said in a choked whisper. “She told me you’d leave… I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Course not,” Jaime grunted. “This lock’s a bitch though.”

“You can do it. C’mon, Jaime, I know you can-”

“Jaime?” Mrs. Langstrom called from the house making them both jump. “You’d better get that firewood inside, boy. It’s fixin’ to rain! I’ve made you a nice chicken sandwich for the road.”

“Mierda…” Jaime muttered. He heard the door swing open and shut. He looked back at Bart. His green eyes were wide, filling with tears. He swallowed hard at the look on Jaime’s face. “I’ll come back!” he promised, “I’m not leaving you, Bart. I’ll come back I swear.”

“Please,” he whispered, as quiet a sob as he could manage. “I don’t wanna die.”

“You’re not gonna die!” Jaime said fiercely. “I’ll come back, as quick as I can. You’re not gonna die.”

Bart looked like he wanted to say something, to plead for Jaime to stay with him perhaps, but he only nodded, closing his eyes tight. Mrs. Langstrom called his name again, closer this time, and Jaime forced himself to swallow and answer her. He picked up the hatchet, suddenly aware of the weight in his hands, and went back to the house.

“My goodness, where did you run off too?” The old woman said, sickeningly sweet when he returned.

“Sorry, Ma’am, I had to… y’know,”

“Of course, dear,” She blushed slightly. “Call of nature. Well, come on and get that firewood inside before it starts to rain properly. I’ve got a sandwich and a nice glass of milk for you.”

“Alright, ma’am,” he nodded and started to carry the wood into the house. He didn’t like to let the hatchet out of his sight, not now that he knew what she was capable off. He ought to run back and get Bart free but she might follow him if she suspected. Much as Jaime’s blood boiled to see his friend tied up like an animal in a cage, he didn’t want to kill a little old lady unless he had to. Even if she was a little old cannibal lady. So he played along, put her wood in the house and ate her chicken sandwich while Bart was scared and alone in that damned cellar.

“You know, Jaime, you’ve been such a help to me today… how would you like to stay the night again? I’m sure I could find some work for you, maybe even pay you a bit.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said, swallowing back the panic at the thought of staying one more night with this woman. “I gotta get going. I need to find Bart.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. Her tone was light but her blue eyes took him in from top to bottom. “He didn’t seem to care much about you when he lit out this morning.”

“That was a mistake.” Beneath the table, his fingers closed into a fist, long dirty nails digging at his palm. “He’s my friend, ma’am. We don’t leave the other behind.”

She pursed her lips together and nodded. “You’re a good boy, Jaime.” She said, “I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jaime said again, ignoring the ominous feeling in his stomach. Bart was counting on him. “I should go now. Thanks kindly for the food and the hospitality.”

She stood, walking him to the door. “You be safe now, Jaime Reyes.”

He’d left the hatchet on the side of the house, next to the wood pile. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jaime sprinted back to the cellar. Bart had maneuvered himself to his knees. Tension drained from his face when he saw Jaime.

“You came back,” he said in one long exhale, green eyes shining.

Jaime nodded. “I said I would,” he raised the hatchet again, hoping against hope he could actually break the padlock this time.

“Wait,” Bart said, “try the wood on the actual door instead. It’ll break apart easier.”

Jaime slapped the blade down and sure enough the door splintered and broke off. Not enough to get through but with a few more strokes maybe. He glanced at Bart and managed a small, panicked green. “C’mon,” The boy said, looking passed him, into the forest. “She might come back.”

Jaime obeyed, working with renewed strength. The old door came apart with a few hard strokes, at least enough that Jaime could crawl through the hole into the dark cellar.

“Oh thank god,” Bart scrambled to turn himself around, “Cut me loose, will ya?”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Jaime said, looking worriedly at the dozens of tight knots around his wrists and ankles.

“You won’t. Please, Jaime…” Jaime followed his gaze to the door. Mrs. Langstrom could easily have heard the noise and there was no telling what else she had up her sleeve.

“Okay,” Jaime took a deep breath. He brought the hatchet down carefully, severing the cords as the sharp blade met them. Bart begged him to hurry, glancing from the door back to him. Finally the ropes fell apart and his hands were free. Ugly red marks covered his wrists. Bart grunted with pain as he stretched out his shoulders. Jaime forced himself to focus on the rope around his ankles. These were less complex. They came apart with one swing and then Bart was in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into the younger boy’s auburn hair. Bart shook against him, sobbing silently. “It’s okay, Bart. You’re safe.”

“Jaime,” his voice was muffled by Jaime’s shirt, his mouth hot against it. “She was gonna eat me… I can’t believe she was gonna eat me!”

“Nobody’s eating you, buddy,” Jaime said, patting him on the back. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”

“She was gonna eat me…” Bart repeated, only half speaking to Jaime. He let the older boy guide him out of the cellar, mumbling the words over again. “I been hungry for… weeks, Jaime, and I ain’t never thought about eating anybody… I ain’t never been that hungry.”

“I don’t think it’s about hunger, Bart,” Jaime said, pulling him a little closer as they scrambled through the woods. “I don’t think hunger’s got anything to do with it.”

Bart nodded, walking a little faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this particular story has been bouncing around in my head for a long time. I didn't plan it for this AU but I think it works. 
> 
> If you're interested: I borrowed Mrs. Langstrom's story from the letter Albert Fish sent to the mother of one of his victims. Fish was a cannibal who was active in the 1930s, mostly preying upon young children. Weirdly, I didn't find many records of cannibalism or serial killers active during the depression, though you would think with wide spread poverty and starvation, not to mention all the migrant workers, a lot more serial killers would take advantage but its possible they just operated without anyone knowing. If you're interested in that kind of thing, I definitely recommend reading up on Albert Fish.
> 
> Reviews are appreciated.


	5. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Kiss

“California is supposed to be sunny,” Jaime grumbled, staring up at the stone gray sky. “You told me it was gonna be sunny,”

 ****“I really didn’t,”  Bart said, trying and failing to stoke the fire. The newspaper had lit easy enough but it didn’t do anything to spark the wood. It burned too fast too, now little more than fading black embers.

 ****“You did too.” Jaime said, shivering. “You promised sun and a beach and pretty girls.”

 ****“There was sun last time I was here,” Bart shrugged, “And we could still go to the beach, if you really wanted to. It’s probably mud now.”

 ****“I wanna go home,” Jaime muttered. He pulled his feet up off the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees, pressing his head down against the rain. Bart sighed and stood up away from the fire. His bindle laid propped against the tree next to Jaime’s. It didn’t carry much, some old beans and a change of clothes. The important stuff, the picture of his mom, a bar of soap and what little money he had to his name, Bart kept on his person, where it couldn’t get so easily lost or stolen.  He put the beans on the ground and draped his clothes over the lowest tree branch. He wrapped the thin blanket over Jaime’s shoulders and curled up next to him. He pulled the blanket up over their heads.

 ****“Sorry, I lied to you,” he said. “I honestly thought it was gonna be sunny.”

Jaime grunted. “Your clothes are gonna get wet,” he said after a long silence.

“You mean clean,” Bart corrected. “Hell, I got soap in my pocket if you wanna take a shower.”

“Bart, how do you keep doing this?” Jaime said in a small voice.

Bart shrugged, “It’s a little cold at first but it’s just want. It’ll get you clean.”

“You know what I mean,” Jaime sniffed and let out a long sigh. “I mean, it’s been… almost a year since my parents and Milagro- since we started out together and you said you’d been on the road for longer than that. How can you be… happy, like this? We don’t have anywhere to go, nothing to eat but one expired can of beans that we can’t even cook? How are you okay?”

Bart blinked, staring at the ground. “I’m not, a lot of the time,” he said, watching the toe of his shoe dig into the muck, “it’s hard, you’re right, but it’s better than-” his mind flashed suddenly back to Nebraska, his grandparents and Cousin Wally and the Thawnes, dead fields and the glint of sun on long rifles and the hard stone of his mother’s grave.  He hadn’t run away from home- they’d destroyed his home when they took the farm- but he had run from his family. They were good people, even if they didn’t exactly want him, and he’d left them. Jaime’s family was taken from him and Bart had just ran.

“Bart?”

“I’m happy when I’m with you.” He said with a hard swallow. “It’s better when you’re around.”

Jaime slipped his arm around Bart’s waist and pulled him closer. “It’s cold,” he said. The rain had soaked through the blanket  and into their clothes. They did this a lot, got close at night to keep the cold away. During the day, they were stronger. There were other things to think about during the day: the next job, the next town, when they could eat again. At night, they had to think of everything else, the homes they’d left behind, the awful things they’d seen. At night, the cold got in and it was safer to hang onto something.

 ****Bart felt warmer than he ever had in his life. He put his head on Jaime’s chest and tried not to listen for his heart beat. Jaime took a deep breath and his other hand reached for Bart’s shoulder. He buried his face in that curve between shoulder and neck and Bart felt the blanket fall away. He didn’t even try to care that it would be soaked in mud, not when Jaime was sobbing against him. His hands curved around the older boy’s bony shoulders and held on tight. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips in soft black hair, “I promise it’ll get better, Jaime. It’s okay.”

“Bart,” Jaime whispered, “Don’t ever go away, Bart. Please, I can’t do this without you.”

“Hey,” Bart pushed his back, forcing Jaime to look him in the eyes. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t ever leave you, Jaime.”

Jaime let out a long shuddering breath and didn’t say anything. His eyes were red and far more exhausted than any boy of fifteen deserved. Bart slid his hands from narrow shoulder to those high, beautiful cheeks. He wiped the tears away with the curve of his thumb and kissed him.

He’d thought of it too often. Imagined again and again what it would feel like to kiss Jaime Reyes. He’d fought the urge night after long cold night to just turn in Jaime’s arms and kiss him, or to press his lips against the long brown curve of his neck.

It was a waste of time. How could he have hoped to imagine what it meant to kiss Jaime when the reality was so beyond everything else he experimented. His lips were chapped and a little bruised but still soft as hell. They parted easily and Bart’s fingers spread through the soaking black hair to pull Jaime closer.

Then there was a hand on his chest and he was falling back into the mud. Jaime scrambled back, his eyes wide with terror. “Why did you do that?” He demanded, standing now at the edge of the clearing, his body tense and ready to spring.

Bart stared down at his hands, covered in mud from where he’d tried to catch himself. “I don’t know,” he whispered, feeling suddenly ashamed of himself.

“Bart!” Jaime barked. His hands curved into fist. “Don’t- you can’t- Why did you do that!”

“It felt like I should,” he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve- I won’t do it again.”

Jaime took another step back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his fist, staring at Bart like he’d just grown another head. “I can’t do this,” he said, and took off running through the storm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I am sorry about that...  
> Jaime is a boy in the 1930s who has never considered romancing boys and option. Bart is a boy in the 1930s who just got his heart bruised.


	6. Between Lightening and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime reacts to the kiss.

The rain fell in heavy, black sheets. Jaime pushed himself through, barely noticing the mud and muck as it squelched into his shoes.  Everything around him, the trees and grass, the dim lights in the distance seemed blurry and far away, like he was seeing them through a dream. It felt like a dream, like a fever running through his body and into his brain making him see and feel things that weren’t there.

Bart kissed him. Bart had kissed him in the rain and it broke Jaime’s mind. He could still feel the heat of it on his lips, like an indentation or a bruise that would never quite heal.

It didn’t feel bad though. That’s what ruined him. The kiss… Bart’s kiss didn’t feel wrong or warped or anything like he’d-

He stopped for a moment, suddenly tired and cold again. Lightning crackled across the sky and Jaime counted the seconds. Once, a lifetime ago, an apache kid named Tye Longshadow hid out in their boarding house in El Paso, on the run from his boarding school. He told Jaime that you could tell how far away lightning struck by counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. You divide the seconds by five and get the number of miles away the lightning struck. Tye said his grandfather told him that and ever since, Jaime had started counting the seconds. He got to three this time before the thunder boomed. He needed to get inside.

Of course, Jaime had thought about it. Not kissing Bart specifically but other guys. He imagined kissing Tye Longshadow long after the other boy left El Paso for his grandfather’s. It didn’t mean anything. People thought about sin all the time. Wanting to sin wasn’t exactly good but you went to confession, you confessed and said the words and you’d be fine. Jaime’d imagined doing worse things than kissing guys. He’d done worse. He’d stolen and lied and wished pain on the people who hurt him and it had been so long since he went to confession. He felt bad about those things though. With Bart he didn’t-

The wind lashed around him. Jaime wished he’d thought for a minute to grab his bindle before leaving. He couldn’t hear Bart calling after him any more. Maybe he’d left the boy behind.

Jaime turned around. He couldn’t see Bart anymore through the trees and the rain, even when he cupped his hands around his eyes. How far had he ran? He’d thought it was just a straight line but… he wasn’t exactly thinking much about it at the time. Had Bart even come after him? Was he still there in that clearing, waiting for Jaime to come back?

Lightning crashed over his head. He barely counted one second before he heard the clap of thunder. Jaime cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted Bart’s name. The word barely reached his own ears over the sound of the wind and rain.

“BART!” He tried again to know avail. “Shit,” Jaime hissed through clenched teeth. “Shitshitshitshit!” The lightning crashed again. “BART!”

Only the winds howl answered him. Only grey darkness greeted his eyes as he blinked through the rain. He could make out a building just on the edge of the distance, leaning at an uncomfortable angle but still weathering the maelstrom.

Bart wasn’t stupid. He’d seek shelter. He wouldn’t wander around in a storm like this for a guy who-

Jaime’s stomach churned as he remembered the way Bart’s face had fallen when he pushed him away. Why did he do that? He’d been surprised, sure, but he didn’t have to push the guy away. He didn’t have to leave a kid all alone in a storm like this, especially when he’d just pleaded with Bart to stay with him.

 _He’s in the barn,_ Jaime thought, slogging through the muck toward the leaning building. _He’ll be in the barn and you can apologize and things can go back the way they were._

They couldn’t though. Jaime knew it even as he forced himself to think the opposite. Whatever he said to Bart, whatever lies he told himself, he’d still feel the impression of the other boy’s lips against his. He’d lie awake at night and think about Bart’s arms around him, the way he still thought of Tye Longshadow laughing and pulling him into a one armed hug after they managed to dodge the El Paso cops looking to start trouble. He’d remember that warm feeling in his chest, of security in a world where he never got enough to eat, never slept in the same place twice, and he’d want it back just for a split second before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to.

He could handle it though, as long as Bart was okay. He could push the thoughts down, like he did with Tye Longshadow, and not think them till he couldn’t think of anything else. He could lie when it really counted, as long as he didn’t have to do it alone.

It took all of Jaime’s strength to pull the door open on the third try. He stepped inside and the wind slammed it just behind him. He shook the rain from his body and shouted, “Bart!” into the musty air.

No one answered. “Bart?” Jaime said again, his voice cracking in the wind. No, he had to be here. Bart wasn’t stupid! He wouldn’t wander around in a storm like this- he had to be here.

The barn was empty. Abandoned of anything but a few piles of dirty straw and some broken farm equipment. The walls weren’t quite all there so the rain trickled in from the storm outside. Jaime felt his entire body shake, as weak as the building around him. “Bart, please be here,” he whispered the words like a prayer as if asking would make the boy appear magically beneath the hay. “Shit,” Jaime whispered again. His stomach dropped. If there had been anything inside it, he would have thrown up. “Shit.”

He wiped the rain from his face with the corner of his sopping sleeve as best he could. He needed to find Bart. He was out there, somewhere in the storm. Once Jaime found him, they could fix this. He couldn’t have gone too far. Bart promised he wouldn’t leave.

Bart didn’t just break promises.

It took Jaime three tries to get the barn door open against the wind. He pushed himself out into the wild wet, squinting into the darkness when he felt a small hand grip his arm, leaving a indelible imprint. “Jaime-” Bart’s whisper rang in his ears louder than clap of thunder he ever heard. The white boy looked up at him, beautiful mouth still moving of course but Jaime couldn’t understand what he was saying. He pulled the other boy inside of the barn as quick as he could, not bothering to look where he stepped. They fell together, half onto the hard dirt floor and half onto filthy straw but Jaime couldn’t make himself care.

“Bart-”

“I’m sorry!” he could hear Bart now, his voice high with panic and fear, “I’m sorry, Jaime. I didn’t- I shouldn’t have- please don’t make me leave! Please, I won’t do it again! I won’t ever touch you again, Jaime, just don’t leave again!”

“Bart,” Jaime gasped, a drowning man breathing for the first time. “Bart, you- you’re-”

“I’m so sorry,” he finally met Jaime’s eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks, leaving trails in the dirt and wet. “Jaime, I promise it will never happen again. I should never have touched you. I won’t- I promise I won’t ever do it again. Please, don’t leave again.”

“I won’t,” he promised in a broken voice, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” he blinked back his own tears, not sure if they were of relief or sorrow. Bart managed a small smile, even as the tears still rolled down his face. “Bart, you’re bleeding,” Jaime said, suddenly noticing the trickle of red of the younger boy’s forehead. “Shit, I did that-”

“No!’ Bart shook his head frantically, little drops of water splashing from his hair. “I tripped, Jaime. It wasn’t you.”

“Shit,” Jaime said again, slumping down on the hay. “I ain’t got anything to fix it.”

“I’m fine,” Bart shrugged. They sat for a moment, listening to the storm howl around them, the building quake against the wind. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jaime said. “You don’t gotta keep apologizing.”

“Okay,” Bart said. He shivered, wrapping his arms around his narrow frame. “I mean it though. I won’t do it again. One time thing, I promise.”

Jaime’s answer caught in his throat. He nodded instead, unable to quell the feeling of disappointment inside his chest. It was for the best, anyway. He drew his arms up around his knees and held himself tight, missing the arms that used to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jaime. Internalized Homophobia is a fucking nightmare. 
> 
> This is dedicated to Mangosandstuff who is the best and makes me happy when I'm not.


	7. After The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I write stories where you kiss.

True to his word, Bart didn’t touch Jaime again. He walked about a foot behind or in front of Jaime, slept with his arms tight over his chest in his own little corner of whatever bed they found in the night. Since that night in the barn, nearly a week ago, Jaime didn’t think Bart had touched him at all.

He kept quiet, didn’t complain about the cold or wet or loneliness of sleeping by himself. They didn’t talk about the kiss. Jaime knew you didn’t talk about things like that and he was grateful to not have to tell Bart that unspoken rule about not speaking.

Technically, you weren’t supposed to think about it either, in addition to not talking, but Jaime failed abysmally on that front. Bart’s lips haunted him. Jaime found himself staring at them from across a campfire, watching the way they moved as Bart traded jokes with some random tramp. He looked away quickly the minute Bart reacted to his gaze, terrified that the warm feeling in his face would manifest on his cheeks. He had to bit his own lips to keep from thinking about it, to keep from wondering how it might have felt if it lasted just a little bit longer. Would he have felt wrong? Would it have been strange in and of itself or just because it wouldn’t be strange at all?

“Jaime?” Bart’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. He’d stopped walking to look back at Jaime, head tilted slightly to the side. “You alright, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Jaime said, strangely out of breath. “I’m fine.” He swallowed, trying to sound normal.

Bart frowned. “You’ve been out of it all day.” He said, “There’s a river up ahead. We oughta cool off.”

“Yeah,” he nodded vaguely. Cool off. Clear his head.

The river did nothing to clear his head, not when Bart  stripped out of his shirt the moment he saw the water. He dropped his clothes on the shore and dove inside, apparently not caring whether Jaime saw or followed or not. The river wasn’t all that deep, so Jaime could see the top half of Bart’s back even as he splashed around.

He swallowed, overcome with the compulsion to look away. He’d seen Bart without clothes before, both top and bottom in the course of their travels together. It never affected him before, he’d never really taken notice before. Bart was far too thin, as way everyone on the road. Jaime could see the bones of his shoulders move under lean muscle. Long pale scars ran down his spine, old but still incredibly clear. Had he not noticed them before or-?

“Where’d you get those scars?”

Bart glanced back at him, water dripping from his scruffy brown hair. “What scars-?” he blinked in slow realization. “Oh. Around, I guess? It doesn’t matter.”

 _Yes, it does,_ Jaime thought but kept his mouth shut. He sat down at the edge of the water and removed his shoes. He ignored the smell and the ache of his soles to watch Bart swim around. He had no idea how the boy could have any excess energy, especially in this kind of heat. He submerged in the shallow water and burst out like a rocket before falling back to float on his back. Jaime sat on the shore and watched Bart swim, watched the water ripple around his fragile scarred body.

“Ain’t you gonna get in?” Bart asked, poking his head out of the water. “It’s hot as hell out there.”

Jaime glanced dubiously at the water. Bart had kicked up most of the mud off the bottom, coloring it an ugly brown. Still, he was already dirty enough that it shouldn’t even matter if he got muddy and it was hotter than blazes. Jaime could feel the sweat congealing on his back and neck and Bart looked damn comfortable sitting back in the water.

“Alright,” Jaime said, peeling off his button down shirt and leaving it to lie on the grass. He left his trousers on since Bart had stripped all the way down to his underwear and left decidedly little to the imagination. He slid into the murky water as the younger boy cheered loudly. “It’s cold,” he said softly, surprised.

“Dunk your head it,” Bart said, and then demonstrated. “It’ll even you out!”

Jaime complied, swimming as best he could in the limited room. When he stood up straight, the water only rose just above his waist but if he kept his legs stretched behind him, he could push himself through with a few light kicks. He pushed soaking black hair out of his eyes when he emerged, just up to his shoulders. Bart laughed. “You feel better?”

"Yeah," Jaime said. Small drops of water slipped down off Bart's hair onto his freckled shoulders. The water felt incredible, encasing his body in chilled comfort. Bart circled around him, very pointedly staring at the sky and not at Jaime. His long arms peeled back over his head, splashing loudly in the empty afternoon.

"Bart," Jaime said. The younger boy stood but didn't look at him. He looked just above Jaime's face, at the top of his head.

"What?"

"How'd you get those scars?"

Bart laughed again. Fake. "Does it matter?"

"No," Jaime shook his head. He slid forward, weightless in the water. Bart took a step back. His chin twitched. Jaime stood still. "I just wanna know," he said, raising palms above the water. "That's all."

It wasn't all. He wanted to know everything about Bart. The sun beat down hot on his head, traveling down to meet with the chill of the water at his chest. Bart shrugged. "Let's just say you weren't the first guy I hung out with on the road," he said, staring into the water. "Let's also say you're my favorite guy I hung out with on the road."

Jaime ignored the burst of anger at the idea of anyone, let alone someone Bart trusted hurting him. He ignored that surge of protective energy in favor of  fixating on the last part. "I'm your favorite. Even after-?"

"Yeah," Bart said nodding softly into the water. "Even after."

They stood in silence. As Bart very pointedly did not look at him, Jaime found he could not look away. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed. Bart shifted toward the shore, "I think I'm gonna-"

"Don't!" Jaime said, without meaning to. Bart froze, apparently just as shocked as Jaime felt at his outburst. "I mean, can't we just talk for a minute?" He blurted. "Por favor?"

Bart looked torn, like he was debating between what to say. No was definitely a possibility or he could make it into a joke which would almost be worse. Jaime's heart pounded loudly, like he was about to leap from a moving train.

"Talk about what?" Bart said. He spoke in a soft voice, wary of betraying any feeling.

"About why you kissed me?" Jaime said. He kept his voice as soft as he could but the need in his chest somehow leaked through anyway.

Bart flinched and looked away again. "I told you," he said in a raw voice, "I won't do it again. One time thing."

"I know-"

"So why do we have to talk about it?" He didn't yell but his voice swung upwards at the end. He shook slightly as he glared into the water, like he wanted nothing more than to run. Jaime took a step forward and Bart flinched, his whole body tensing to jump. Jaime forced himself to stand still, to not reach out and close the distance between them.

"Because," he swallowed, "I wanna know if you still feel that way."

"It doesn't matter." Bart said. "I won't do anything."

"It matters," Jaime said, "Bart, I ain't gonna leave you. I just wanna know if anythings changed-"

Bart shook his head. "Nothing's changed about how I feel about you." He said.

"I think I might've-" but no, nothing had really changed within him, at least not in regard to Bart. His feeling had just shifted, come into better focus. He could see the things he thought were impossible before, like standing on top of a hill and watching the lights of a new town below. "I think- can I kiss you?"

Bart blushed hard. His lips parted slightly and then closed. He opened his mouth and closed it again, staring at Jaime like he was about to vanish somehow. He nodded, just once, almost imperceptibly.

Jaime hadn't kissed anyone before Bart. He'd been kissed, a few times. Family members kissed his cheek and laughing girls pressed their lips to his at parties. Once, a girl named Tracy kissed him on the back steps of his boarding house, soft and quiet before she went inside. He thought of how his parents had kissed each other, gentle and unassuming. He cupped his hand on Bart's cheek, still damp from the water, and kissed him.

Bart hesitated for a moment before pressing back, every so slightly, against him. His fingers landed deftly on Jaime's arms, just barely holding on. Jaime pressed his palms to Bart's skinny hips. His mouth quirked up into a smile, in direct defiance of the voice still echoing through his brain that this shouldn't make him happy.

He pulled back, looking at Bart. The younger boy watched him carefully. "I-" he said and swallowed. "Did you get what you needed?" The blush still colored his cheeks and his voice was hesitant.

"No," Jaime said, and kissed him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, so much kissing.


End file.
